


Strawberries

by purple_bookcover



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Fluff, M/M, Oisuga Weekend, farmer Suga, kiss, manager iwaizumi, movie star oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Oikawa is forced to work on a farm as punishment for his bad boy movie star antics. Oikawa hates everything about his penance, from the smell to the dirt to the manual labor. Yet he finds a strange comfort in the presence of the man who owns the farm, Sugawara Koushi. Through shared hard work, they bond and discover what the other has to offer.A fluffy little romantic story about them growing closer through hard work and strawberries.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> This is for OiSuga weekend! I didn't really follow the day's prompts, but I can't post on Saturday or Sunday so this has to go up today. Loosely inspired by the day 3 "autumn" prompt.

Oikawa tilted up his sunglasses, glaring under the rim. 

“This place smells,” he drawled.

Iwaizumi scowled, but had the decency not to argue the point. How could he? The smell was so thick Oikawa could taste it: dirt and manure and squirming, growing things. Already, Oikawa’s black wing-tipped shoes were tinted sepia from the dust and muck. Sweat built up in his collared shirt, a tasteful plaid, still designer, even if Asahi was known for his more “approachable” looks. 

And that was the goal today, according to Iwaizumi. Approachable. Ordinary. That was why Oikawa was standing in dirt in jeans that probably cost more than the entire farm sprawled out before him. 

“Do I really need to do this?” Oikawa said. 

Iwaizumi’s scowl deepened. He was on his phone, probably flipping through the latest dire Twitter report. “Yes,” he said.

Oikawa groaned. “I don’t think it’s going to change anything. They already hate me.” 

“Because you won’t stop making an ass of yourself,” Iwaizumi snapped.

“Isn’t it your job to make me look good no matter what?” 

“I’m a manager, not a god.” 

“And I’m a actor, not a farmer,” Oikawa shot back, “but here we are.” 

He waved his arms at the fields and structures around them. They stood in a parking lot, little more than grass that had been driven over enough to wear it down to dirt. Immediately ahead was a stall, large, but open on all sides. The roof would protect it from weather, but the lack of walls allowed the fruits and vegetables arrayed inside to scent the air.

All the fresh food had clearly come from the fields right behind the stall. Even from where he stood, Oikawa could see more growing in neat rows. It was all so orderly and bright, despite the dirt and the bugs and the stink. 

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa by the collar. “Come on,” he said. 

Oikawa stumbled along – he had little choice – but he complained the entire way from the car to the stall. “Come on, Iwa. This isn’t going to fix anything. Do you really think a couple Insta photos of me caked in dirt is going to solve anything?” 

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi said, “but it will at least keep you away from that club so you can’t cause more trouble.” 

Oikawa twisted his lips at that but did not respond. He feared even one more word would goad Iwaizumi into bringing up _that_ incident, the one half of Twitter was screaming about even a week later. Sure, it hadn’t been Oikawa’s proudest moment. And perhaps he didn’t remember _all_ the details of that wild night. But he doubted it was as toxic as the internet made it seem. 

Still, Iwaizumi wasn’t going to let up on him until he atoned and apparently that meant a day spent in the dirt – a _long_ day in the dirt.

#

Sugawara counted the vegetables laid out on the counter, doing some quick math on a calculator set beside the till. 

“$12.87,” he said.

Miss Ito dug through her purse, counting out the amount and setting it in the tray. 

“Thank you so much,” Suga said. “I’ll see you next week?” 

“Of course,” Miss Ito said. “Anything new coming up?”

Suga considered. “The strawberries are doing well. A lot of them should turn ripe in the next few days. You might be right in time to get them at their peak.” 

Her face lit up. The strawberries were always Miss Ito’s favorite. She’d probably come back early just to get them. He made a mental note to set aside a basket and give her a call as soon as the berries turned. 

Suga opened his mouth to offer as much, but just then two men stepped into the stall, one dragging the other by the collar. The one doing the dragging looked right at Suga, eyes narrowing. “Are you the owner?” 

Suga blinked. At first glance, he’d pegged the men as city folk just passing through, curious enough to stop for some fresh fruit perhaps, but not curious enough to actually care who owned the land. The man who addressed him was all business. He even had some little device in his ear, presumably for receiving calls. 

“I … I am,” Suga said.

The man strode up to Suga, yanking his companion along. He stuck out a hand. “Iwaizumi.”

Suga shook cautiously. “Sugawara.” 

“My client would like to assist you today,” Iwaizumi said. 

Suga blinked again. He mostly took care of the farm by himself, had for years. Sometimes the community college would send over some agricultural students. There were a few local teens who helped out during the summers. But for the most part is was just Suga and that was fine. 

“Just … tell me how to … weed the trees or whatever.” 

Suga noticed the other man for the first time. He was glaring at the floor, looking utterly miserable. He was dressed far too nice for farm work, in what was obviously a city boy’s idea of working attire. Even Suga could see that that plaid shirt was decorative and not functional. It would tear on the first bramble he brushed against. 

Miss Ito was backing away with her vegetables. She offered Suga a tentative wave. He returned the gesture, though his heart sank to realize he was now alone with these two strange figures. 

Suga gathered himself, putting on his best customer-service face. “Can I help you two?” 

“You may know my client,” Iwaizumi said. “Oikawa. Tooru Oikawa. He is here to work.” 

Suga shook his head. He’d never heard that name in his life. Should he have? The way Oikawa was grimacing at him now, he felt like perhaps he’d missed some vital bit of information. 

“Well, I don’t have any help planned to come in this week,” Suga said, “but if you’d really like to, there is certainly always something to do. I can pay--”

Iwaizumi held up a hand. “Don’t pay him. He doesn’t need it. Trust me.” 

This was only getting more strange by the moment. Suga looked between the pair, trying to figure out what he was missing, what they weren’t saying.

“I couldn’t do that,” Suga said. “Everyone who works for me gets a fair wage for their effort.” 

“That’s noble and all, but...” Iwaizumi scrolled through his phone, digging for something. He turned the display toward Suga. 

At first, Suga couldn’t tell what he was looking at. A blurry picture. A man leaving a club, his arm around two other people. Red and blue light splashed across the figures in the image, like the lights of a police car were just off screen. 

Iwaizumi scrolled. A somber mugshot. A handsome man, though he looked absolutely disheveled and miserable in the image. 

Realization dawned slowly. Suga looked between the image on the phone and the man glowering at the floor. 

Iwaizumi scrolled a final time. This image was more flattering, a man in a crown and cape grinning atop a throne. He was beautiful, ethereal, almost, and it took Suga a moment to realize he was also the man in the mugshot. 

“Oikawa,” Suga said, rolling the name around in his mouth, connecting it to the man on the throne. “Tooru … Oikawa. Are you a model?” 

Oikawa’s gaze jerked up, eyes widening at Suga. Beside him, Iwaizumi’s frown cracked, revealing an amused smile. 

Oikawa made a noise of utter disgust. “Seriously, do you live under a rock?” 

Suga shrugged, encompassing the stall and the farm beyond in the gesture. 

“He’s an actor,” Iwaizumi said. “Unless he’s tarnished his career beyond my ability to repair it. And today,” he said, taking Oikawa by the shoulders, pushing him toward Suga, “he is a farmhand.”

#

Oikawa tugged at the weed nestled between the rows of snap peas climbing up trellises. At least, he presumed they were snap peas. That’s what Sugawara had called them while describing what to pull and what not to pull. 

The weed resisted. Oikawa tugged harder, yanking at the stubborn little thing. Still, it remained rooted to the earth. He planted his feet, pulling harder still, and finally the weed gave up its grip on the ground – and sent Oikawa tumbling backward. 

He hit the dirt with an oof and sat there stunned for a moment, the weed still clutched in one hand. Oikawa grumbled as he climbed back to his feet, wiping at his jeans. It was a lost cause. Already they were stained in the ankles and knees. Now, the butt was smudged as well. There’d be no getting all of it out. 

Oikawa sighed, flinging the weed aside. He heard a click.

Oikawa spun, glaring at Iwaizumi, who just smirked. 

“That’s a good photo,” Iwaizumi said. “Very natural. It’ll play well.” 

“Delete that.”

“Absolutely not. It’s the entire reason we’re here.” 

Oikawa ground his teeth. He took a step toward Iwaizumi, but only one step. Before he could reach his infuriating manager and shake him by the collar, he saw Sugawara heading toward them, waving his arm. 

“How’s it going out here?” Sugawara said.

He was just as dirty as Oikawa, perhaps worse, but it looked natural on him, charming in that rustic farmer kind of way. He could be an attractive guy, Oikawa thought, if he bothered to care about it. His overalls were smeared in dirt, some of it so caked in it had to be from more than just today. One side was unhooked and hanging loose, revealing an equally dirty T-shirt. A hat shaded Sugawara’s face. 

Oikawa couldn’t help feeling a little jealous about that. The sun was absolutely blazing, sending sweat rolling down Oikawa’s back and making his shirt cling to his skin, but Sugawara looked almost comfortable in the conditions, his smile light. 

God, a couple hours ago he never would have longed for an ugly straw hat. Iwaizumi was going to break him with this. 

“Got all the weeds?” Sugawara said. 

Oikawa held up the one he’d managed to yank free. 

Sugawara glanced around, frowning a little, surely noticing the ample other weeds still poking up among the snap peas. 

“In fairness,” Oikawa said, “I just started. We were picking all morning.” 

Sugawara glanced up toward the sun, now directly overhead, and Oikawa knew he was thinking that “just started” was more than a little generous. It had probably been an entire hour since Suga had set out this task for him and Oikawa had nothing to show for it but one scrawny weed.

“Well, would you like to take a break?” Sugawara said. “I’ve got lunch ready. There’s plenty for everyone.” 

Oikawa’s stomach clenched at the thought. 

Iwaizumi slapped him on the shoulder. “If you wouldn’t mind feeding him, we’ll compensate you for the food.” 

“What about you?” Sugawara said. 

Iwaizumi was already walking away. “I think I saw a cafe back in town. I’ll catch up with you both later. Don’t let him slack off.” 

Oikawa glared after Iwaizumi. Sugawara just blinked as the manager headed back to his car and drove away. 

“Asshole,” Oikawa muttered. 

To Oikawa’s surprise, Sugawara started laughing at that, covering his mouth with a hand. “You two are good friends, huh?” 

Oikawa decided not to answer that. They had been, once, but lately Iwaizumi felt like mostly a manager and babysitter. He sighed. He shouldn’t blame Iwa. It wasn’t like Oikawa made himself very easy to manage. 

“Come on,” Sugawara said. “You must be starving.” 

“I am,” Oikawa agreed. 

He followed Sugawara toward a house off to the side of the farm. Oikawa hadn’t even noticed it until he was walking up a dirt path leading to a pale blue porch with rocking chairs set out on it. Sugawara opened a screen door and led Oikawa into the cool shade of the home. 

Sugawara set his hat aside and kicked off his muddy shoes. Oikawa did the same with his own shoes before trailing Sugawara down a narrow hallway. The photos on the wall were rarely of Sugawara himself. The farmer always seemed to be surrounded by other people – high schoolers, seniors, groups of school children. For all the farm’s small size, it apparently attracted a lot of visitors. 

The hall let them out into a cozy little kitchen with a round table dominating the center of the tiled floor. Pots hung neatly on the wall. Dish towels warmed the counter tops, where Oikawa noticed salt and pepper shakers shaped like ducks. Sunlight streamed in through the windows at the back of the kitchen. A cat lounged on one of the counters, basking in the warmth. It was like a damn postcard of a farmhouse. But if Sugawara was meant to be the kindly old farmer in the picture, he was far too young for the job. 

_And far too cute,_ Oikawa’s brain supplied before he could stop it. 

“Help yourself,” Sugawara said and that gentle smile made it impossible for Oikawa to argue with himself.

He took a seat at the table and Sugawara settled across from him. The whole tabletop was consumed with food – mashed potatoes, steamed snap peas, a variety of cheeses, turkey, hard rolls, sliced strawberries beside a dish full of fluffy cream. 

Any other day, this might have looked like crumbs to Oikawa, but today he dug in with ferocity. The turkey sandwich filled some deep ache in his belly. The snap peas were crisp and surprisingly sweet. The strawberries and cream topped off the meal with a dose of decadence that could have belonged in any five-star restaurant Oikawa had ever eaten in.

“Do you like it?” Sugawara said. 

Oikawa nodded. 

“Good! You helped pick it.” 

Oikawa took a closer look at the meal. Those snap peas... Were they the very ones he’d plucked from the vine this morning? The strawberries. They must have been some of the ones he’d helped collect. 

“Not enough to sell yet,” Sugawara had said, “but maybe good for a snack.” 

At the time, Oikawa had barely paid attention to the remark, but now, at last, it struck him. They’d been foraging their own lunch. 

Something about that knowledge made the last slices of strawberry all the sweeter. Oikawa slowed his frantic pace, savoring those last juicy reminders of his own work this day. 

Sugawara offered him tea afterward and they relaxed and sipped it in the rocking chairs on the porch while the heat of the day passed. 

“So,” Sugawara said, “an actor, huh? That sounds fun.” 

“It’s OK,” Oikawa said. 

“Oh? I would think it would be so exciting. I’ve never had someone famous visit. The local paper barely even stops by anymore.” 

“It’s...” Was it exciting? Oikawa had been acting since he was a kid. By the time he reached his teens it was already mundane. Oikawa had spent more of his high school years acting than studying and gradually lost whatever friends he had left. All but Iwaizumi, who stuck by him for some reason, even as he reached his 20s and started lashing out at anything he could reach. 

He sighed. He didn’t even know why he was doing it anymore. Sometimes the urge to push, to strike out at something, anything, was just so strong he couldn’t stop himself. 

“It’s just a job,” he said. 

“I suppose,” Sugawara said. “I guess anything becomes ordinary if it’s what you do all the time, huh?” 

Oikawa frowned at his tea. “What about you? How’d you end up out here?” 

“Oh, just the usual way,” Sugawara said. “I grew up down the street. Sometimes the older couple who owned this place needed some help and I didn’t mind the work. Even came to like it. When they passed they gave it to me and I’m doing my best to keep the place running. It’s tough with that big super market moving into town and stuff, though. I’m not sure how long I’ll get to keep this place.” 

Sugawara’s gaze was far away, sweeping over the tidy rows of plants basking in the sunlight. His eyes were the warm brown of the fragrant earth Oikawa had knelt in most of the day. 

“What will you do when it’s gone?” 

Oikawa regretted the question the moment he spoke. God, why couldn’t he keep from barreling on like an idiot? Why did he look at those warm eyes, that gentle smile, and feel the need to twist a finger in the first wound he could find? But Sugawara just shifted his attention over to Oikawa and shrugged. 

“I guess I’ll end up working at the super market.” He laughed, but it had a grim edge to it. 

Something about that made Oikawa’s whole mouth go sour. Thinking of this farm plowed over or neglected, those sweet strawberries left to rot on the vine or wither in the sun... 

Sugawara set aside his tea, stretching as he stood. He threw his hat back on over his silver hair. “They haven’t shut me down yet, though. Come on. There’s more to do.”

#

Suga did his best to keep Oikawa occupied for the rest of the day. He expected more of a fight, especially after how the morning had gone, but Oikawa leapt into any task Suga gave him after lunch. He cut back the blackberry brambles trying to claw onto the property. He swept the wooden floor of the storefront. He even did the dishes from their lunch. Any little task Suga needed a hand with, Oikawa was eager to help. 

As exhausting as it was giving orders, Suga had to admit the help was a relief. Things like sweeping the stall floor easily fell to the wayside when Suga had so much to tend to with the crops. They were the most important, and sensitive, so there were plenty of days when Suga accomplished little but the daily tasks of watering and weeding and trimming. 

Still, it was a bit of a relief to see Iwaizumi’s car roll back into the parking lot as the sun dipped low and the day cooled. 

“How was he?” Iwaizumi said. “I trust he was on his best behavior.” 

“He was a great helper,” Suga said. “Thank you so much for your time today.” 

He reached into a pocket, pulling out the bills required for the hours Oikawa had spent on the farm. The moment he presented them, Iwaizumi shook his head.

“Keep it. He’s rich.”

“It’s not about that,” Suga said. “If you work, you get paid. That’s just how it goes here. I won’t accept a no.” 

Iwaizumi smiled, eyeing Suga appreciatively. “How about this?” Iwaizumi said. “We’d like to make a donation in his name for exactly that amount you’re holding right there.” 

Suga paused. Iwaizumi must have noticed the donation box at the front of the stall. It was embarrassing taking charity from them. Suga’s pride urged him to insist on paying Oikawa anyway. 

Oikawa took Suga’s hand in his, curling Suga’s fingers over the cash. The touch was startling, even after all the time they’d spent together today. But Suga did not pull away. 

Oikawa cupped Suga’s hand in both of his, looking right in Suga’s eyes as he spoke. “Please keep it. Call it a gift or a donation or whatever you need to, but if you make me take it, I’m just going to give it back.”

Suga relented. Oikawa looked suddenly earnest, suddenly stripped of all artifice. Suga hadn’t realized how guarded Oikawa had been until the actor stood bare before him, pleading and sincere. 

“Alright,” Suga said. “Thank you for your help today. It was appreciated. Really.” 

An odd expression came over Oikawa’s face. It wasn’t a grimace or a smug smile or any of the things Suga had seen on his face all day. It was more like that moment during lunch when Oikawa had realized he was eating strawberries he’d picked himself and his whole face opened and brightened.

“My pleasure,” Oikawa said. His hands slid back, grazing Suga’s as Oikawa released him. 

Suga watched him go, arguing with his manager until the moment they got into the car and drove off.

The farm felt very quiet that night and even the next day. Suga went about his chores, storing away the incident as a strange but amusing anecdote. Who knew? Some people might even recognize this “Tooru Oikawa” and be impressed by the story.

“You’re famous, Suga,” Miss Ito said the next week as Suga rang up her fresh strawberries.

“I’m sorry?” he said.

“The farm,” Miss Ito said. “Didn’t you see? It’s been all over the internet.” 

“W-what?” 

He followed up the moment she left, rushing to his laptop. The old machine was slow and loud, whirring and whining when he booted it up, but it was good enough to show him she was right. There were pictures of Oikawa working on his farm all over the internet. Twitter, Reddit, Facebook – everywhere he turned, he found another person mentioning Suga and the farm, asking him what the heck was going on. 

Suga had no answer. Apparently this Oikawa guy really was as famous as he claimed, but Suga didn’t even have a television. He certainly hadn’t gone to a movie theater any time in recent memory. 

He was still reeling from the revelation when his phone rang. Suga wondered if it would be the local paper or maybe even the bigger newspaper from the city. Maybe even TV news? Would they flood his farm suddenly, try to pry out some secret about his prestigious visitor? Suga really didn’t know what to say about the man. He was helpful, if stubborn, companionable once he warmed up to the task, and certainly attractive in that surreal sort of “movie star” way, though anyone could see that. 

When he picked up the phone it was not a journalist, however. It was--

“Hey, it’s me. Oikawa.”

“Oikawa?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I had to dig around for your number. Your website is terrible, Sugawara.” 

“Y-you can call me Suga.” 

To be honest, Suga had forgotten the farm even _had_ a website. It had been a high schooler’s summer project, worth a few extra credit points and little else. Suga figured anyone in town who actually wanted to find him could do so without the internet. 

“Why are you calling?” Suga said. That was blunt, but something in Suga’s chest was fluttering frantically and he couldn’t quite seem to be anything but blunt.

“Well...” Oikawa sounded more unsure than Suga had ever heard him. Granted, his experience was rather limited, but it was still abrasive and strange. 

“I was hoping to come back,” Oikawa said. 

There was a plea in his voice, a note of caution that made him seem very small, even from the other end of a phone.

“You’re welcome to visit any time you l--”

“Not to visit,” Oikawa cut in. “I want to come back and work.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh? Is that a bad oh?”

“It’s a … surprised oh,” Suga said. “I thought you only came here for some pictures. Are you in trouble again?”

“No no,” Oikawa said. “It’s nothing like that. I promise. Iwa won’t even know. I just … I want to come back for … myself.”

“I see.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

Suga considered. Oikawa was certainly not the most helpful farmhand he’d ever taken on, but he was earnest and enthusiastic, once Suga broke past the layer of bitter sarcasm. And if Suga had to guess, he’d say that Oikawa needed to do the work far more than Suga needed the work done.

“Yes,” Suga said. “Yes, I’d love that.”

He heard a sigh on the other end of the phone.

#

Oikawa set his hands on his hips. “Alright, boss. Put me to work.” 

Suga smiled and did just that, rattling off a list of tasks and setting Oikawa loose on the farm to accomplish them. 

It was strangely freeing being trusted like this. Suga didn’t look over his shoulder or check up on him. He simply stated what needed doing and left Oikawa to get it done. No meetings. No frantic texts about where he was. No manager or director or assistant buzzing around his ears and hanging on his shoulders. Just the job at hand and faith that he’d get it done.

And he would. This time, Oikawa arrived prepared.

He’d found an old pair of jeans and an actual T-shirt, complete with the logo of some 5K he didn’t even remember running. He’d had to buy the sneakers, but they fared far better in the dirt than the wing-tipped shoes from last time. 

And he had a hat. It was hideous – wide brimmed and made of straw – but it kept the sun out of his face all day while he picked and weeded and dug and hauled. Some of what Suga needed done was what he expecting – picking strawberries that were ripe, getting rid of weeds, trimming back the ever-present blackberry brambles. But some was more unusual. There was an old tire left out in a field that Suga had simply never gotten around to disposing of. There was a rake so old and rusted it should get thrown out. There were a few shingles on the roof that could be glued back down before the summer weather passed and stormy fall arrived. 

Oikawa did all of it, anything Suga needed done, and at the end of the day he collapsed dirty and exhausted into a chair in the kitchen before a meal finer than any king’s feast. 

Everything was obscenely delicious and this time Oikawa knew from the start that he’d had a hand in bringing the meal to fruition. He’d peeled the potatoes himself and started the water boiling. He’d sliced up the strawberries for that decadent dessert. He’d boiled the carrots alongside the potatoes. 

“You’re staring,” Suga said. “Are you not hungry?”

Oikawa shook himself. “No, no, I’m ravenous. It’s just... Seeing it all like this, it’s like when I know I nailed a performance and then get to see the final version up on the screen, you know? All that hard work gets turned into something incredible.”

Suga smiled softly. “That makes sense.” 

“Does it?”

“Yeah. You worked hard. It wasn’t a performance, but it was still work. There’s still a … sort of a transformation.” 

“A transformation,” Oikawa mused. “Yeah, that’s a nice way of putting it.” 

He dug in, filling his grumbling stomach. He knew he’d be sore tomorrow. His whole body had ached after the first time. But it was a good sort of ache, the kind of ache that felt like a reward and not a punishment. 

After the meal, they retreated to the rocking chairs on the porch. The tea Suga brewed was sweet and mellow. Sipping it was like wrapping himself in a blanket. Overhead, the stars prickled the darkness, bright this far from the city’s lights. Oikawa traced them with his eyes. How long had it been since he’d been this far from the city for this long? 

“So, will you let me pay you this time?” Suga said.

Oikawa shook his head. “Nope.” 

Suga laughed. “I can’t stop you from ‘donating’ it again, but honestly, you earned the money.”

Oikawa shifted his gaze from the heavens to Suga. There was a mark beneath Suga’s eye, a single pinprick like those stars overhead. It was somehow more beautiful for being the only one of its kind. “I don’t want your money, Suga.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

Oikawa paused. He hadn’t really thought about it. He’d come here because it felt like he had to, like he had no choice, like if he didn’t he might just lose his mind. There was something about this farm, something earnest and endearing – as earnest and endearing as Suga himself. 

Oikawa held out his free hand. Normally, this kind of thing wouldn’t even be a question. Who _wouldn’t_ accept an offer like this from movie star Tooru Oikawa? But Suga didn’t know him as that, had probably never even seen his movies. To Suga, he was just a temporary assistant, and a clumsy one at that. Perhaps he was even just a burden.

That put a tremble in Oikawa’s hand as he waited for Suga’s response. But Suga just smiled, placid as the still night cooling around them, and set his hand in Oikawa’s. Suga’s hand was calloused. Oikawa ran his thumb over the rough spots, savoring the evidence of years and years of hard work. 

“I think I want...” Oikawa hesitated, heart leaping into his throat. Suga was leaning closer to him or maybe it was just Oikawa’s vision filling with the sight of those inviting lips. 

His phone buzzed. He startled, jerking his hand free of Suga’s. The phone went on buzzing at him even as he tried to read the messages flashing on the screen, a harsh glare in the night.

_where are you???_

_what are you doing?_

_seriously oikawa answer me_

_this is unprofessional. what the hell is going on????_

It was Iwaizumi. Shit. Oikawa had to be on set tomorrow. The very thought made his gut clench. The last place he wanted to be right now was some set with blazing lights and demanding directors and strutting co-stars all vying for attention. 

“Do you need to go?” Suga said.

Oikawa looked up. There was something sad in Suga’s expression, though Oikawa knew he’d say nothing of it if Oikawa got up and walked away right now. Suga wouldn’t demand, wouldn’t push, wouldn’t even try to call him, most likely. If Oikawa got up and left, that would be it. Forever. 

His chest tightened until he felt like he could hardly breathe. 

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

“But...”

Suga’s eyes slid toward the phone, still grumbling its demands. Oikawa held the power button until it turned off, silent at last. He set it aside, forgotten along with his cooling tea, and took Suga’s hand again. 

“You asked me what I want,” Oikawa said. “Why I’m here.” He stood, pulling Suga up with him. He drew Suga closer, so close his soft breath and gentle heat warmed the space between them. “I want … to stay with you a little longer. If you’d like.” 

Suga blinked, eyes wide, lips parted. But then he smiled, as soft as buttery leaves soaking in the sunlight. He leaned forward and Oikawa discovered that his mouth was just as soft as his smiles, a contrast to the calloused hand Oikawa held. Both were lovely, both told the story of this improbable man kissing him on a dark porch overseeing a tiny farm in the middle of nowhere. Oikawa fell into it, fell completely. When they finally parted, dizziness washed through him, leaving him clinging to Suga’s steady hand. 

“Yes,” Suga said. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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